


Episode 2: Blood & Honor

by orphan_account



Series: Fires of Purgatory - Season 1 [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 07:13:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18256352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As Oliver and Laurel settle into a comfortable routine, their alter egos run afoul of an old nemesis while protecting C.N.R.I.’s new attorney and his client: China White. Oliver makes a move that puts him at odds with his mother, and Laurel tracks down Sin. In flashbacks, Laurel and Oliver bury Robert and are found by Fyers’ men.





	Episode 2: Blood & Honor

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Arrow.
> 
> A/N: The Adrian Chase that is introduced in this story is not the one Josh Segarra played. I wrote this story during Season 4, remember? I pictured the real Adrian Chase (aka Vigilante) being portrayed by Noah Beane (Ryan Fletcher on “Nikita” and Daniel on “Once Upon A Time”) and continue to do so.

 

Elena Wilkins had been on the track team in high school and kept herself in shape, knowing that being able to run was half the reason she had (so far) escaped being victimized by the more disgusting men in Starling. Yet despite all the physical prowess she had, when she felt the knife press against her throat as she finished slinging the garbage bags she had carried out of the Big Belly Burger where she worked (the uptown location, not that horrid downtown one), her mind and body simply froze. An arm wrapped around her, and a man whispered into her ear, “Scream, and I’ll slice you ear-to-ear. Nod if you understand.” She did as he told her. “Good. Now, nice and slow, let’s ease back to where my friends are waiting. Try and fight, it’ll be worse for you.”  

As she allowed herself to be pulled away from the door that led to her workplace and safety, Elena screamed in her mind for someone to help her, for God to have mercy, for  _anything_  to happen. She was pulled into a side alley, turned, and flung towards a group of waiting men. She flinched at the cackle of laughter in the alley as she was led toward them by the man who had grabbed her; the man in question gesturing with his wicked-looking knife to keep her moving. Tears trickled down her cheeks, running her mascara. “Oh, look at that,” one of the men, his tone thick with drunkenness, slurred out as he pointed at her face. “She’s gone and made herself ugly.”  

“Guess she knows we’ll be making her ugly on the inside by morning,” one of the other men, who was a great deal soberer and articulate than his companions, said as he eyed Elena. “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll help you look nice and ugly on the outside, too.”  

A kick to the back of her leg sent Elena staggering, and the man behind her hooked her left ankle with his own right foot, tripping her up and bringing her crashing to the ground. As her head impacted with the ground, she felt dizzy, but tried to focus past it. As she regained her equilibrium, she found two of the men were already holding her arms apart as a third began unbuckling his belt. His grin as he eyed her up and down had Elena’s skin crawling, and she finally let out the scream that had been building up. “ _HELP! HELP ME SOME-_ _Urkh_ _!_ ” One of the men holding her arms had kept holding her down with one hand while fisting up the other and planting it in her gut, driving the breath from her body and cutting off her scream.  

“Well, that just means we’ll be takin’ our time,” the man before her said as he undid the button of his jeans. “But I think we got enough time for one quick lesson before we gotta take you elsewhere.”  

“Oh, there’s gonna be a lesson here alright,” a disguised voice, though still clearly female, said from behind the gang of thugs. “But she won’t be the student.” A screeching sound filled the air and the men all shrank back, covering their ears. The men holding Elena down released her as their arms came up to clamp over their ears. She did the same for her own but rolled up onto her knees before standing and dashing off to the side for safety.  

The Black Canary closed her mouth, readying her new extendable nightsticks. The older model nightsticks she had utilized before had not been able to keep up with the abuse she put them through in fights with bastards like these, so she had put a request in with Jax, their armorer, while her new armored outfit had been supplied via A.R.G.U.S., much like Oliver’s. She had hoped to not have to utilize their services, partly because she didn’t want to be further indebted to A.R.G.U.S. technicians for her life and because she wasn’t focused solely on the mission of taking down those on the List, but after her run-in with the Huntsman she knew that she would need it. Too many people could find out about that vulnerability in her previous outfit. The new outfit was colored black, naturally, but made use of A.R.G.U.S.’ tendency for innovation: interconnected plates, a mixture of Kevlar and titanium alloy, covered the more vulnerable parts of her body and a metallic mesh fiber, not unlike chainmail, allowed for ease of movement. A domino mask finished the outfit off.  

“Now, who’s first?” The Black Canary asked, eying the men with a predatory glint in her eye. “You! Get your pants back on,” she added, giving the man who had been intending to rape Elena a look of downright hatred. “This is gonna be painful enough without you exposing yourself and giving me a target, small as it is,” she needled. The man’s face grew red with rage as he zipped himself back up.  

He held up a hand towards the other men. “Keep an eye on the little slut we grabbed,” he said. “I’m gonna want to enjoy this.”  

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be the one getting any enjoyment out of this,” Black Canary replied, and with that, the mocking portion of the fight had ended. She allowed the overcompensating man to attack first, give him his ego boost before she crushed it thoroughly. She sidestepped his lunging attack and slapped his hand with the extendable nightstick she now wielded. The knife in his hand dropped even as she brought the second nightstick down on the back of his left knee, sending him tumbling to the ground.  

As he turned in rage, she lashed out with a kick, catching him in the jaw. Blood spurted out from between his lips (and maybe a couple of teeth, too, if she was lucky) as he landed on his back. This was the signal for the rest of the men to attack. Seeing two men coming at her from the side and sensing another coming from behind, the Black Canary unleashed her Canary Cry at the two coming at her from the side. They were lifted off their feet and sent flying through the air and into an open dumpster. Not allowing herself to be distracted, the Black Canary ducked as she turned around, and the man who had rushed at her in a flying tackle sailed over her. She stood as he landed on the ground behind her, standing and walking to him as he began to stand. A solid kick to the gut had the man coughing and wheezing, and the blow to the back of his head by her nightstick saw him unconscious within seconds.  

Elena stepped forward, over the man who had been about to rape her and came to stand in front of the Black Canary. “Th-thank you,” she managed to get out. The Black Canary smiled at her and nodded silently. “I didn’t think you were real,” Elena admitted. “It seemed too good to be true.”  

“No woman should have to suffer at the hands of men,” the Black Canary told her softly. “You should get back to your work, call this in. Don’t be ashamed to ask for help if you need it, Elena. It’s not asking for help that leads to feelings of weakness and despair.” 

**_*DC*_ **

Quentin Lance eyed the man that had been brought into the hospital earlier that night through the glass partition. He looked to the doctor beside him, who he quickly recognized as Dr. Sattler, the woman who had diagnosed Oliver and Laurel’s conditions when they returned the previous week. God, it was hard to believe the two had been back a week already. But it was even harder to look at guys like this, knowing that his daughter was likely the one who did it. Even if the bastards deserved it (all of them had records of sexual misconduct, if not outright assaults and rape), they still had rights and it hit Quentin every time he saw one of them that his little girl was doing this. He had spent the past week observing how Laurel and Oliver acted, and noted during breakfasts at the Queen Mansion that they were usually bright-eyed and tackling the day with enthusiasm, usually having just come from a morning sparring session. It had given the parents of the group a heart attack the first morning they had seen this, the day after the vigilantes took down Adam Hunt. Considering the vigilantes had rarely been seen in the hours after midnight (at least not as far as the police had been able to piece together), that meant Oliver and Laurel got back to the Queen Mansion with enough time to sleep and wake up for a workout before breakfast.  

Quentin asked quietly, “So, doc, same story as the last few?” There were four of them tonight.  

“Yes, and this one was effusive enough in his displeasure at being accosted as to describe his attacker as ‘the screeching bondage chick from hell’,” Sattler told him, raising her eyebrows at him slightly. “Each of these men will spend months in recovery, Detective, and already some of their victims have reached out, some with evidence. Whoever this woman is, she’s not simply out there beating up these men to work out some frustration in her past. She’s doing it because she knows no one else will.”  

“You a psychologist, too?” Quentin asked grumpily.  

“My work with the S.A.S. required me to study in many fields, Detective,” Dr. Sattler replied. “I don’t have a degree, but I have helped others who have suffered what your daughter and Mr. Queen have. How are they adjusting?”  

Quentin, startled at the conversation’s change in direction, stammered for a moment as he redirected his thoughts. “They’re doing a good job of making us think they’re adjusting,” he hedged.  

“But you’re not buying it,” Dr. Sattler noted. At Quentin’s nod, Dr. Sattler said, “It’s to be expected. No one can go through what they’ve gone through and come out without the emotional and psychological scars to match the physical ones. If they don’t seek help soon, give them my card. After all,” here, Dr. Sattler smiled a bit coyly, “I do know a thing or two about keeping secrets.” 

Quentin snorted at that. He had no doubt, since the woman had been with the S.A.S. One could admit to that, but little else, and then only after they had finished their contract with the organization. Quentin somehow doubted operatives made it known while still active. “Look, you got anything else with this guy or can I take his statement?”  

**_*DC*_ **

The next morning, Oliver and Laurel entered the Queen Mansion with matching grins on their faces, as they had done so for the past week. Everyone present in the mornings (Raisa, Moira, Walter, and Thea with Quentin and Dinah occasionally coming around in the early parts of the morning) had noticed that the workout the two had each morning seemed to put them into good spirits, and more than a few wondered about that, seeing as having to defend themselves had apparently been quite the ordeal in their five year exile. Raisa, as was custom now, had some freshly-made orange juice ready for the two of them, unsweetened of course, and they took the glasses with a quiet thank you to the family maid, who simply nodded in acknowledgement, happy to see young Mr. Oliver so happy and back home. She had always known he had a good heart, and she could see that if anything else, the five years away had allowed both he and Ms. Laurel to find who they were together and apart.  

This morning, however, the only ones present were Raisa and Thea. Moira and Walter had gotten up earlier than normal and headed to Queen Consolidated for some reason, and Oliver wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that reason was. Despite her initial acceptance that he and Laurel were no longer the same people, Moira, and to a lesser extent Dinah, had begun to try and act like nothing had changed and things were going back to normal. Oliver knew that that wasn’t going to end well. If he had been alone on the island, he might have wanted to try and act like everything was normal, but both he and Laurel had explored who they were back then and knew they couldn’t go back to those children. If Moira and Dinah continued to press for the old normal, it was going to come to a head. The only question, Oliver mused, was which one of them would be snapping first.  

As he took a drink of the orange juice, Oliver noted the way Thea was acting. Five years away and dealing with the worst of humanity had forced Oliver to learn very quickly how to read the body language of others, and he noted that Thea’s posture was almost down. He glanced over to Laurel and quirked an eyebrow to get her attention. When she met his gaze, his eyes flicked to Thea, raising his eyebrows right after to show he was asking if she spotted what he did. Laurel looked to Thea, and her gaze softened. She gave Oliver a slight nod.  

“You know, those non-verbal conversations you two have are kinda irritating,” Thea said, looking up from where she had been staring at the tabletop to give her brother a mild glare.  

“Speedy, what’s going on?” Oliver asked quietly, taking a seat beside his sister. Laurel, meanwhile, vanished upstairs to get ready for the day. She hoped it wasn’t anything too serious with Thea; with any luck it was something as simple as still missing her brother. Laurel had told Oliver he really should spend more time with his family and not focus so much on the mission; she spent time with Sara and her parents when not working on finding her own targets. Even as much as she wanted to devote all of her time to finding the Huntsman and helping Oliver track down whoever it was who had sent those men after them when they first got back, she knew that they had to also connect with their old lives in some ways and be visibly getting back into the groove of things. Otherwise, as she had pointed out to Oliver in the Lair last night, they would eventually be considered suspects for the role of the vigilantes. It looked like he had taken her warning to heart. She just wondered if it was already too late.  

Thea looked up at her brother, saw the earnest care in his eyes, and closed her own. “It’s just that I spent so much time hoping that you’d come back, both of you. But now that you are, even though we live in the same house, it’s like we don’t see each other all that much. We don’t talk; we don’t tease each other; we don’t do any of the things we should be doing.”  

Oliver sighed and moved to sit next to Thea. He put an arm around her, and she moved closer, burrowing into his chest as she had done when she was younger. He smiled fondly at the memory of those times as he said, “Thea, I’m sorry. I’m getting used to being back, but there were things that happened both before the Island and once I was there that made me take a serious look at who I was. I’m still trying to figure out who I am now, and who I’m supposed to be moving forward. I guess I got so caught up in that, I forgot that I should still be trying to reconnect with everyone.” He shifted slightly so he could see her face better as she looked up at him. “Tell you what? You get Mr. Diggle, and we’ll go out, just the two of us, spend some time together.”  

“What about school?” Thea asked.  

“From what I hear, you’re close to the top of your class,” Oliver said, nudging his sister a little. She smiled at this. “I think you can miss one day. Though, of course, if we’re caught, I will put the blame on you.”  

“That won’t work,” Thea teased. “You’re the responsible adult. I’m still a minor.”  

Laurel, meanwhile, had finished her shower and was now getting ready for the day. Realizing she had forgotten to check her messages this morning when she got in, she picked up her phone and opened her voicemail. She put it on speaker as she dressed. Her mother and sister had taken her out for a day of shopping the day after Joanna had died, and helped her buy new, comfortable outfits. She didn’t mind keeping trendy, as Sara and Thea would put it, but she had always preferred her own kind of style and had kept that in picking out her clothes. Today’s ensemble was a loose-fitting blouse, a pair of business slacks with heels, and a white overcoat.  

First up on her messages was one from her sister. “Hey, sis,” Sara’s voice sounded. “I finally got you an appointment with the guy from that gym. His name’s Ted Grant, if you forgot, and he runs the Wildcat Gym. Guess he was a boxer back in the day. Anyways, he’s expecting you today around two. Hope that doesn’t cut into any ‘you and Ollie time’.” Laurel rolled her eyes at her sister’s laugh that followed this statement, but she couldn’t help the smile that came to her face. Like Oliver with Thea, there was something therapeutic about their younger siblings teasing them like they had before the  _Gambit_ , before the island, before  _A.R.G.U.S_. “Anyways, talk later. Maybe we can talk Ollie and Tommy into taking us for a nice night on the town. Bye, sis.”  

The next message was from her father. “Laurel, we need to talk about somethin’,” Quentin’s voice was serious, and a bit muffled, like he was trying to keep quiet. “Text me when we can meet and talk. Today, Laurel.” The beep of the call ending so fast disturbed Laurel. Something had clearly upset her father, but she couldn’t for the life of her come up with the reason why.  

The final message was a voice unknown to her. “Ms. Lance, my name is Adrian Chase. I was hired at C.N.R.I. to replace Joanna de la Vega. She was looking into something for you and had a file ready when she was killed. I have it here at the office for you whenever you want to come for it.” The voicemail ended, and Laurel saved all three, feeling a bit numb. Despite her case against Adam Hunt, Joanna had gone out of her way to find out the information about Cynthia Simone, the girl whose photo was burned into her mind after meeting the girl’s father on Lian Yu. She had promised the man she would find his daughter and make sure she was safe. She had been preparing to hire a P.I. once the memorial service for Joanna had finished, but she had never gone through with it. Now it appeared that, even in death, Joanna was helping her. “Thank you, Joanna,” she said quietly.  

Later that day, Moira Queen arrived back at the mansion feeling a bit frazzled; she had spent a good part of this morning working with Walter on the presentation ceremony coming up, where they would dedicate the new applied sciences building to Robert’s memory. One of the key elements she had decided she wanted was for Oliver to speak about his father, but she had had a hard time nailing her son down long enough to speak with him. Despite his closeness with Laurel and Thea, and his time with Tommy, he had seemed distant after those initial days back in Starling City.  

Moira entered the kitchen to find Raisa washing out the morning’s dishes. “Raisa, have you seen Oliver this morning?” she asked the Russian woman, her tone neutral. Moira knew that, with her constantly at Robert’s side or in grieving for Robert and Oliver, that Raisa had basically been the mother Moira’s children needed and while she was grateful, she was also resentful, even though she had only herself to blame.  

“Mr. Oliver and Ms. Thea went out today,” Raisa told her employer. “Ms. Thea was feeling as though Mr. Oliver had distanced himself again, and Mr. Oliver decided to spend the day with her.”  

Hearing this, Moira had to smile. Her son had changed a great deal in his time away, and she was glad of some of those changes; others, not so much. “Thank you, Raisa,” Moira said. “I assume Laurel has gone out to spend time with her family?” At the maid’s nod, Moira said, “When you see Oliver next, tell him I need to speak with him, and that it’s important.”  

“I will tell him, Mrs. Queen,” Raisa said, and Moira departed the kitchen, her mind turning once more to some of the revelations in her mind as of late, including that she had become resentful of the Russian maid.  Now older and more experienced than she had been, Moira knew just how much family meant and she wanted to hold her children closer to her, especially with what was coming. Starling would be shaken by the events she and Malcolm, and their associates in Tempest, had set in motion five years ago.  

Moira was no elitist snob like many believed her to be; she had been raised in a neighborhood like the Glades in her youth and had put her desire to leave that life behind above everything. Her ambition led her to a scholarship to attend, of all places, Harvard, and that was where she had met Robert, Malcolm, and Rebecca. She had introduced herself as Moira Dearden, and while she had every right to the Dearden name (it was her mother’s maiden name), she had decided to use it because she wanted no part in her true last name, not after what her brother had done. She had noted the same stiffness in her tone was mirrored in Malcolm’s and, upon digging, had discovered that she was not the only one to reinvent herself with a simple name change. Malcolm’s past she would allow him, as she had her own dark past.  

That was why, despite her horror at the Undertaking, she had not gone to the police. The people there who had no desire to become part of the criminal enterprises that were continually tightening their stranglehold on the Glades could show the same ambition she had and pull themselves out of the muck, away from the criminality, but they didn’t, instead choosing to live that destitute existence. Moira had salved her conscience with the knowledge that those who were truly against working in any criminal enterprise would have left the Glades as legitimate sources of income dried up and moved to Metropolis, Central City, or somewhere else to begin anew.  

Despite her own poor origins, Moira Queen did not register the fact in her mind that said people had no means of getting to Central City or Metropolis because of the actions of Malcolm, Robert, Frank, Carl Ballard, and the other two members of Tempest, Ruby Ryder and Reverend Marcus Hale. Years spent living the high life, first at Harvard, than as the wife of Robert Queen and later Walter Steele, had robbed Moira of her memory of that time. . . to a point.  

**_*DC*_ **

Laurel was surprised when her father arrived at the mansion not long after she had texted him that she was free for the day since Ollie was spending time with Thea. Not that he had arrived so quickly, her dad had always been one for punctuality; no, what surprised her was his unkempt appearance. He only got like this when he was working on some big case, or when he had been drinking like when she was younger. But she could tell he hadn’t been drinking, and she knew her father didn’t have any big cases he was working on now. His curt direction to get in the car left Laurel feeling uncertain about what was going on, and Quentin was so busy fighting with himself about what he was going to do he didn’t even register the uncomfortable silence that had fallen, a silence that lasted until they pulled into one of the gates at Starling Cemetery. “Daddy, what are we doing here?” Laurel asked.  

“We need to talk, and I needed to show you something,” Quentin told her. “I figured it was best to handle them both at the same time.” Quentin followed the familiar path he had taken in the past five years and shut off the car. “Come on.” He got out, Laurel following, even though she knew where he was taking her. Sure enough, they stopped in front of a simple, elegantly carved gravestone that Laurel guessed had cost a good chunk of her parents’ combined salaries. Engraved upon it were the words:  

**_Dinah Laurel Lance_**  

**_1985-2007_**  

**_Beloved Daughter and Sister_**  

**_A Big Heart & A Big Smile_** 

“We debated for weeks what to put on there,” Quentin said thickly beside her. “How do you sum up a person in a short sentence? How do you encompass a person’s achievements, who they are, in something so short? But in the end, the two things that radiated the most was the smile you would give us when you were on Cloud Nine, and your heart is what drove you to talk about becoming a lawyer and to keep pursuing Queen even after he made it look like he was little more than scum. You not only brought Queen into your heart, you did the same for Thea and Tommy.”  

Laurel’s eyes glistened with tears as Quentin talked about those weeks they had spent pondering what to do, and how they had made the choice of what the world would remember her by. “What’s this all about, Daddy?” she asked. “You said you had a reason you needed to talk to me.”  

“I brought you here because I need you to understand that I can’t go through losing you again, baby girl,” Quentin said, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her a pained look. “I kept myself together the past five years because I still had your mom and your sister. But I can’t count the amount of times I looked at the whiskey I have stored away. I didn’t, because I knew you would have cussed me out something good.” Quentin dropped his hands from her shoulders. “I can’t be standing over your grave one day, and have it be an actual grave, Laurel.” 

Laurel, despite her remaining tears, smiled brightly at her father, knowing he needed to see that smile right now. “Dad, you’re not going to lose me again,” she told him, pulling him into a hug. “I’m right here, and I’m going anywhere.”  

“I wish I could say I believe that,” Quentin said, even as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand coming up and holding her head close to his shoulder. “But I know in my bones that there might come a day when its real. Because I know, Laurel.” Quentin took a deep, shuddering breath, and finally spoke the secret he had kept this past week in a whisper, barely audible. “I know about the Black Canary.”  

**_*DC*_ **

“You are such a doofus,” Thea informed her brother as he tried, and failed, to catch a tossed chip in his mouth as they walked along the edge of the pathway that mirrored the creek running through the city park, John Diggle a couple of yards behind them to give them privacy but also to give him distance if need be should something happen. Normally, he wouldn’t be this far from his principle, but he also knew that Oliver Queen was not the spoiled playboy who had vanished.  

That day he had been hired, he had expected another bored playboy like the ones who he and his brother had accompanied to Tommy Merlyn’s party a few years back, and which he spent most of his time babysitting since his brother’s death. Instead, he had found a man and a woman who held themselves with the grace of soldiers, and the firm reasoning Oliver had used to dissuade his mother from intruding on his privacy by hiring Diggle for him was a surprise.  

Though Diggle couldn’t really blame him for doing so; from his little interaction with Moira Queen, he had found her to be a woman who liked to be in control, and that seemed to extend to her children to some degree. He was sure that, if it weren’t for the fact that it was Mr. Steele and Mr. Queen who ended up hiring him to keep Thea Queen safe, that Mrs. Queen would want to be apprised of her daughter’s activities. While Mr. Queen had asked for something similar, it was to be left to Diggle’s own judgment what to tell the man. Dig had to admit, he appreciated the candor and trust that Mr. Queen had shown him in their interactions thus far. Too many billionaires and bored trust fund brats saw him as little better than the hired help and treated him as such; Mrs. Queen was much the same, though she hid it behind a veneer of civility.  

Oliver smiled, but before he was able to reply, his keen ears picked up the sound of someone approaching them fast from behind. He turned swiftly, stance shifting to one he could fight from and protect his sister with if necessary, just as the man who was coming at them pulled to a stop, breathing heavily as though he hadn’t had to run like that in a long time. Oliver quickly assessed the man’s threat level. His build was lean, and he wore a red hoodie with a pair of second-hand jeans that hung loosely on him. No doubt either hand-me-downs or purchased at a thrift store; a resident of the Glades, then. “Glad I caught you,” the man said, bracing himself with his hands on the knees as he caught his breath, and Oliver was startled to hear just how young the man, no, boy sounded. He couldn’t be much older than Thea. When the boy pulled the hoodie away from his face, Oliver’s suspicions were confirmed.  

“Who are you?” Oliver asked quietly.  

“I’m Roy Harper,” the kid told him. “I came to warn you. A bunch of the old steel workers are looking to kidnap you and your sister, hold you until your mother gives the workers the severance package they were denied.”  

**_*DC*_ **

Laurel stepped up to the desk that she had been directed to by the man at the front of the building, her mind still on what had happened in the graveyard. Her father had told her he knew about the Black Canary, and then asked her if she needed a ride somewhere. When she had tried to talk to him about what he’d just said, he had raised a hand and said, “ _Not a word, Laurel. I’m not_ _gonna_ _turn you or Queen in. But I don’t want to know about why you’re doing this, or what all you do. If I don’t know, I can’t talk._ ” Laurel had finally told him she needed to go to C.N.R.I. Every attempt she had made to try and speak to him about it had been rebuffed. It was a very disconcerting feeling, and she fingered the card he had given her, which now resided in the pocket of her overcoat. She had been surprised by the offer Quentin had passed along from Dr. Sattler.  

Laurel was pulled out of her thoughts by a man coming up to her. “Can I help you, miss?” the man asked, and she recognized his voice as being Adrian Chase’s, the man who had left the message for her.  

“Yes,” Laurel said, giving the man a small, brief smile. “My name’s Laurel Lance. You left me a message about a file?”  

“That’s right,” Chase said, holding out a hand for her to shake, which she did. He moved around the desk and opened a drawer. “Sorry about the mess,” he said, gesturing to the stacks of files on his desk. “I’ve been trying to catch up on all the cases I’ve been handed.”  

“That’s alright,” Laurel told him. “I’m glad they found someone who’s as dedicated as Joanna was. What brought you to CNRI, if you don’t mind my asking?”  

Chase, pulling a file from the drawer and checking to make sure it was the right one, considered the question. “I was a prosecutor in New York City,” he told her, “and I kept seeing a pattern of abuse when it came to the system. The cops were taking the easy way out, blaming minorities and barely using any actual evidence, but most of the other ADAs just went along with it. I finally told my supervisor that if that was the way he was going to handle justice, I wanted no part in it. I left my job that day and looked for somewhere I could make a difference. I applied to CNRI and a couple of places in Metropolis and Gotham. CNRI was the first to respond, though I have to say I don’t like how I got this job.”  

“Yes, the Huntsman is one sick bastard,” Laurel said as Chase handed her the file. “Thank you for the file,” she told him. “I’d tell you to call me if you needed any help here in town, but I just got back a week ago myself. Good luck with whatever case you’re working on.” Laurel’s sharp eyes, trained by A.R.G.U.S. to spot the small things, had taken note of a file marked  _Nocenti vs Somers_. She was pretty sure she had heard that second name before; she just needed to check with Ollie. That could be done tonight. For now, she had one more appointment to keep before she could begin tracking down Cynthia Simone.  

**_*DC*_ **

Oliver eyed the young man for a moment before nodding. “Mr. Diggle, please escort Thea back to the car,” he told the man. When the man made a move as if to refuse to leave him behind, Oliver looked to him and reminded him, “I can take care of myself. Thea, go with Mr. Diggle. I’ll be just fine.” Thea looked ready to protest, but Diggle put a hand on her shoulder and began guiding her away, his eyes sharp as he looked for any possible threats now that he was aware of one.  

Oliver turned his attention to Roy, who was looking at him in consternation. No doubt Oliver wasn’t acting as Roy had expected; cool and detached rather than ready to run for it. “I’m guessing the men in question are waiting ahead?” At Roy’s nod, Oliver smirked and said, “Well, we shouldn’t keep them waiting. Coming?” Oliver began walking down the path again, towards the ambush, and he heard Roy mutter something about crazy bastards before beginning to follow him. After a few minutes of walking, they found themselves surrounded by men, one of whom saw Roy and an ugly look appeared on the man’s already horrendous-looking face.  

“Harper! What the hell did you do?” the man demanded to know.  

Roy jutted his chin forward aggressively, defiantly, as he locked eyes with the man who spoke to him. “Roughing up some dirtbag from the Glades is one thing,” he said. “Kidnapping a girl and her brother to try and get their mother to do something? I’m not fine with that.”  

“And yet you brought Mr. Queen here,” another man, this one more reserved and calculating than the other men, said, studying the two.  

“He brought himself, because he’s a crazy bastard,” Roy corrected. “I followed because I wanted to see what he was planning.”  

Oliver chuckled at the moniker Roy had given him. “Well, I guess one could say my sanity isn’t what it used to be,” he said. “Now, from what Roy here told me, your goal is to get my mother to pay the severance packages denied to the steel workers when my father shut down his factory five years ago. Is that right?”  

“It is,” the reserved man told him.  

“Well, I can tell you that my mother will never admit to any wrong-doing, particularly by my father,” Oliver told them. “She’s practically sainted him since he died and with the upcoming dedication ceremony, she’ll never do anything that would remind people that he wasn’t a good man.” Here, Oliver smiled. “That doesn’t mean  _I_  can’t do something. Do you have a list of workers and what their severance packages were meant to be?”  

“I do,” the man said. “What are you proposing?”  

“In my time away, I’ve come to know what it was like to do things that I didn’t want to in order to survive and lived with the question in my head of if the next day would be the one I died. I can’t say I know precisely what you’re going through, what all of you have gone through, but I feel I can sympathize more with you than my mother could. I have access to certain accounts she does not, and I can pay those severance packages. Give me 24 hours; do the steel workers still gather at the same bar?” Oliver asked.  

“We do,” the ugly-looking thug from before, who still had not let up on the glare he was aiming at Roy, said. Oliver eyed the man briefly before turning back to face the leader of these men. 

“I will come there tomorrow at six p.m.,” Oliver said to the ringleader. “Send me an email with the list of names, and I will double-check what their severance packages were meant to be and add some interest for the suffering of the past five years. All I ask in return is that no retaliation be made against Roy, who clearly had the best of intentions. I can tell you that, had you ambushed me and my sister, this would have been a very different conversation.”  

While most of the men seemed agreeable to this, the ugly one seemed incensed by the idea that they would be leaving without a good brawl. “Not good enough!” The ugly man lunged forward, swinging clumsily, and Oliver caught his fist before delivering a blow to the man’s solar plexus, paralyzing his breathing for a moment, which was all Oliver needed to bring the man down on his back. As the man wheezed on the ground, Oliver glanced at the others, who were shocked by Oliver’s display. He noted Roy was eyeing him speculatively from the side but pushed that aside for now.  

Oliver said, “This man is on that list?” At the leader’s wary nod, Oliver continued, “Does he have a family to support?”  

“No, he doesn’t,” Roy said from the side. “They left to live with family in Central City four years ago. He’s been doing nothing but warming a bar stool and hopping from temp agency to temp agency.”  

“Then he can continue as he has,” Oliver said. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s just forfeited any chance he had at my giving  _his_  severance package to him. I do hope his only intention here was to get a nice fat payout to blow on drinking. I’d hate to think you’d allied with a man intending to use my sister as a form of revenge.” The coldness in Oliver’s tone sent chills down the spines of the men around him, and the word would eventually spread; mess with Thea Queen at your own peril.  

Oliver and the men parted ways, and Oliver found himself with a shadow in the form of Roy Harper. “Do you have something you need to say, Mr. Harper?” Oliver asked him.  

“I’m just trying to figure you out,” Roy told him. “Why would you care about what happens to people in the Glades? It’s not like you even live in the city. You don’t see the desperation every single day.”  

Oliver looked over at the kid. He reminded Oliver of himself during some of the past five years; the anger and need to  _do something_  burned brightly in Roy, but he didn’t have a path to channel it towards. So. he took odd jobs like this one, hoping to help the people in the Glades. Oliver filed this away, deciding he would investigate Roy Harper more thoroughly down the road. While going after the one-percenters who made life difficult for the people in the Glades was a good start, Oliver knew he needed to do more. Maybe Roy could act as his eyes and ears on the streets of the Glades.  

For now, though, Oliver simply answered Roy’s question. “I care because I’m not blind to the reality, Roy,” he said softly. “This city is dying, and the poison killing it isn’t coming from the Glades. It’s coming from downtown. The least I can do is give the people who were put into dire straits because of my father’s actions five years ago the chance to leave town. Those severance packages should afford them enough to move and find work in Central City, Coast City, anywhere but Starling.” Oliver left Roy standing there, considering what Oliver had said, as he rejoined his relieved sister and her bodyguard, who eyed him briefly and then nodded to show his respect.  

**_*DC*_ **

“It’s not often that I get asked to train someone who isn’t from the Glades,” Ted Grant said as he observed the blonde opposite him. After she had come in and introduced herself, they had gone to Ted’s office. He had studied the way she moved, like she was prepared for an attack at any moment, but she held herself just loosely enough to make her walk seem more natural and casual than predatory. Ted had seen someone walk like that before; considering that the person in question had a woman for a partner in vigilantism and he had dropped them off near the old steel factory, it didn’t take a genius for Ted to figure out who Laurel Lance really was, and who had been under that green hood that night. “So, what exactly is it you think I can help you with? You can already fight.”  

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Laurel hedged, surprised at the boxer’s observation. Did he know it was her that he had helped the night Joanna was taken?  

“The way you move, it reminds me of people who have come in here before, people who have learned how to fight and just want to hit something,” Ted said. “Lashing out for no reason but to lash out isn’t the reason this gym is here. It’s here to give people somewhere to train, to learn how to defend themselves. The police and everyone outside of the Glades is just fine with letting criminals run rough-shod over us. I’ve been threatened by those same criminals to shut down, and I still haven’t been given any legal help to fight that. So, tell me, Ms. Lance, why are you here? Are you here to lash out, angry at the world, or are you here so you can defend yourself, and defend others if given the shot?”  

Laurel met Ted’s gaze evenly. “I lost a friend of mine very recently to the Huntsman,” she said. “I spent years on an island with my fiancé, and we had to fight for our lives almost every day. We picked up a few things, and my fiancé is fine with what he has. I’m not. Whether I ever find the Huntsman, or I just come up against someone who is trained, I want to have something other than a hodge-podge set of fighting skills I picked up while trying to survive.”  

Ted smiled and nodded approvingly at this. “Good,” he said. “We can train every day if you want, for a couple of hours each time. You’ll need to keep in shape on your own time, though. I’m not here to coddle you and help you through every stage of becoming a better fighter.”  

Laurel smiled at the man’s no-nonsense attitude. It was too bad Ollie didn’t want to learn more skills; she had a feeling he and Ted would get along. Well, that, or they’d be on edge around one another for being too similar.  

**_*DC*_ **

At the lair that night, Laurel found Oliver in the process of transferring funds into various accounts. “Hey, Ollie,” she said quietly, and he turned, giving her a smile as he stood.  

“Hey,” he said quietly, and wrapped his arms around her. His lips met hers as her hand reached up to brush against his cheek. Pulling away, he asked, “How was your day?”  

“It was interesting,” Laurel told him. “I have a few things I need to talk to you about. But first, what are you doing? I don’t remember you hitting someone recently.”  

“Thea and I were walking in the park when a young man named Roy Harper came up to us and told us some of the former workers at this factory were intending to kidnap us in order to force my mother to give them the severance packages they were denied when my father shut down the factory,” Oliver told her as he took a seat at the computers again and watched as the funds transferred. “I talked to them and was sent a list of the people involved. Cross-referencing them with the QC database, I’ve found how much they were meant to receive for severance, and I’m using one of Robert’s off-shore accounts to do what he should have done. Each of these accounts are set up with nation-wide banks, and I’ll be going to the bar the steel workers used to frequent with the information on their new accounts tomorrow.”  

“How are you getting the bank cards and everything else set up so fast?” she asked, even as she placed her hands on his shoulders and began to massage them, feeling he had been tense since the confrontation, and not just because of the confrontation itself. He leaned back into her touch, as he had done so many times in their five years away.  

“A combination of the Queen name and some applied pressure from some old friends of ours,” Oliver said. Laurel sighed at this. She hated that they were still technically working for A.R.G.U.S., if more independently. She didn’t know what it was Oliver had done to earn such strong good will from Amanda Waller, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But with the tacit approval of A.R.G.U.S., they could operate as they saw fit and not be targeted by the government. It would also give them some leverage should one of them be arrested. They had a few contingencies in play for that, one of those being recruiting people who could serve as decoys while they were under house arrest. The other, more blatant, contingency was one Laurel hoped they never had to play as it would put them even more firmly under Waller’s thumb.  

Laurel watched as the funds finished transferring and tilted Oliver’s head up, so he was facing her. “You’re a good man, Ollie,” she told him and kissed his forehead.  

Oliver chuckled sadly and said, “I only believe that because it’s you. After all these years, you haven’t left me. If you had, I’d know I wasn’t a good man anymore. Because you would not be with a man you couldn’t perceive as good.” Oliver pulled away and turned in his chair. “So, you mentioned some things that happened today?”  

“I don’t know how, but my Dad knows,” Laurel told him. Oliver’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, and she held up her hand to keep him from interrupting. “He took me to the graveyard, to where my gravestone is, Ollie, and told me that he didn’t think he could stand losing me again. When I tried to assure him, he told me he couldn’t believe that because he knew about the Black Canary. Then he shut me down when I tried to talk. He doesn’t want to know what we do or why, so he can’t talk if asked.”  

Oliver’s expression had turned thoughtful during Laurel’s explanation. “I think that even if he were a drunken mess, your father would’ve figured out what was going on,” Oliver told her. “His not wanting to hear about what it is we do, or why we do it, is the best way he knows how to protect you.”  

“I don’t need protecting,” Laurel said. “Something both you and my Dad need to remember.”  

“Well, you might be able to convince me because I know that if you wanted to, you could kick my ass,” Oliver said. “I know you learned a lot more than what we picked up on the island during my time infiltrating the Bratva and Shadowspire.” Laurel gave him a mischievous grin at that. “But your dad is always going to want to protect you, Laurel. You’re his daughter. Remember when I told you about Samantha?” Laurel nodded, the grin fading as she remembered that painful moment. Oliver had taken the death of Akio Yamashiro hard, and Laurel had pressed to find out why. The discovery that Oliver had nearly had a child with her old sorority sister was something that had shocked her.  

If they hadn’t already begun their policy of honesty and turned over a new leaf in their relationship by that point, Laurel knew she would have taken in much worse than she had. “If Samantha hadn’t lost the baby, I would have wanted to protect the kid from everything I could,” Oliver told her quietly. “If I can feel that way about a child who never saw this world, then imagine how your father must feel having raised you and Sara to adulthood. Your father isn’t just a father because of blood relation, Laurel. He’s a  _dad_  because he would do  _anything_  for his daughters.” Oliver wrapped his arms around Laurel as she clung to him. It wasn’t often he spoke from such a deep level, and when he did, she always found it moving.  

“Thank you, Ollie,” Laurel told him, wiping the edges of her eyes to clear up the tears and thanking the powers that be that she wasn’t big on mascara or eye-liner. Five years with nothing in the way of make-up had left her uncaring towards some of the more extravagant aspects of the life she and Oliver had left behind, an attitude he shared. They were already looking at apartments for rent in the city, as Oliver had expressed a desire to get away from the Queen Mansion before his mother tried to pull something that would make him do something he regretted. “Anyways, the other thing that happened. I met Joanna’s replacement. She found what I asked her to look into. I noticed a file on his desk. It was Emily Nocenti vs Martin Somers. Isn’t he on the List?”  

Oliver picked up the notebook containing the List even as he said, “Yes, he is.” He opened the notebook to the appropriate page and handed it to Laurel before turning to the computers and beginning to run a search using an ARGUS algorithm. While their former ally, Naomi Singh, was in hiding from ARGUS and had supplied them with some loadable programs, some of the ARGUS algorithms worked better. This was certainly one of those times. Soon enough, news reports and finance sheets filled the screens. “Martin Somers is working with the Triad,” Oliver said quietly. “Emily Nocenti’s father was a stevedore, and apparently one who wasn’t big on corruption like Somers. And with his being paid up with the right people downtown, the D.A. won’t prosecute.”  

“So, Joanna’s replacement, Adrian Chase, is doing it instead and might end up in the Triad’s crosshairs,” Laurel concluded. At Oliver’s nod, Laurel sighed and said, “And of course, the Triad’s best enforcer who we’ve crossed paths with multiple times just happens to have been relocated to Starling again. Do you get the feeling we pissed someone off in a past incarnation or something?”  

Oliver chuckled and said, “Well, guess we’ll just have to roll with the punches. I assume you have some hunting to do?” 

“I was, but I think I’m going to go see my Dad instead,” Laurel said. “His shift ends soon. I’ll patrol later tonight. You gonna visit Somers tonight?”  

“I’ll do it after dinner at the Mansion,” Oliver said. “Meet you back there?”  

“Sure, I’ll bring Mom and Dad, so Moira doesn’t try and pressure you too hard,” Laurel said, ruffling his hair as a reflex. She departed with a grin on her face as he grumbled about the fact that she didn’t need to do that anymore since his hair wasn’t all ‘serial killer’ looking.  

**_*DC*_ **

_Five Years Ago_

Oliver Queen opened his eyes, glancing at the underside of the shelter he and Laurel had built once they arrived on the island the previous evening. They’d had enough light to create a makeshift camp and put the survival skills they had learned during camping trips with families and (in Oliver’s case) a very brief stint with the Boy Scouts of America. They had been sleeping on the branches of pine trees, huddled together for warmth and comfort, with the silver blanket from the survival kit on the raft wrapped around them. The shelter, crafted from a mix of sturdy branches and roofed with pine branches and leaves found on the ground, had provided a sense of normalcy they could slip into after the horrifying events of the past few days.  

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Oliver sat up and looked out across the ocean. The sky was overcast again, so the ocean looked like a merciless, ever-changing mass of iron-colored liquid, ready to rear up and strike at them if they dared enter it. Oliver shivered slightly and looked down at his girlfriend’s sleeping form. Even in sleep, Laurel’s expression was tight, as if she was being chased through her dreams; Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if it was something like that. Both had struggled with sleep in the past couple of days as they drifted, Robert’s body (for Oliver refused to call the man his father any longer) wrapped in the canvas of the shelter and a constant reminder of their near-murder at the hands of Robert Queen.  

Laurel began to stir, and Oliver watched as her eyes fluttered open, green orbs clouded briefly by sleep before sharpening. She turned to look at him. “It really happened, didn’t it?” she asked softly.  

Oliver sighed and nodded, scooting closer to her as she pulled herself into a sitting position, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We’re gonna be okay, Laurel,” he told her. “We’re gonna find a way home. You have to believe that.” 

**_*DC*_ **

_Present Day_

Quentin couldn’t help the half-laugh, half-sigh that escaped him when he saw his daughter waiting patiently by his desk as he prepared to clock out for the day. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he muttered as he stopped in front of his desk to put the files he had just added to back in their place. “We’re both stubborn as hell.”  

“It isn’t what you’re thinking,” Laurel said, her mouth quirking up into a grin. “You and Mom are going to help me keep Oliver safe from his mother hounding him.”  

“Oh, really? And why would I devote an evening to that?” Quentin asked as he picked up his jacket.  

“Well, Ollie told me that he thought you had made the choice you did to protect me,” Laurel said quietly as they headed for the exit. “I told him that both you and he need to remember I don’t need protecting. Then he said something I didn’t expect.”  

“Oh?” Quentin asked, raising an eyebrow in question.  

“He said that that’s what makes you different from being a father,” Laurel said. “A father can be blood, but it’s the fact that you’d do anything for me and Sara that makes you a Dad.”  

Quentin worked his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. He was touched, more than he’d care to admit, by Oliver’s observation of the differences between being a father and being a dad. That Oliver had then pointed this out to Laurel in defense of Quentin, who hadn’t always been his biggest fan, was even more surprising. Finally, Quentin let out a chuckle and said, “Guess we’d better go get your mother and hope we get to the Mansion in time, then.” Laurel’s smile beaming at him made it even more worth it. He doubted he’d ever get tired of seeing her smile like that.   

**_*DC*_ **

Oliver was glad for the buffer that not only Laurel and her parents, but also Tommy and Sara, provided during dinner. However, he should have known that his mother would still push ahead with whatever she was working herself towards; he got his tenacity from her, after all. It was at the end of dinner, as they retired to the sitting room to speak of the day’s events, that his mother finally cornered him, opening with an unexpected line of questioning.  

“Oliver, I understand from Mr. Diggle and Thea that you were nearly ambushed today while you were out, and rather than retreat with them, you followed the man who warned you into the ambush,” Moira said. “Why did you do that? You could’ve been hurt.”  

“Well, I’m fine, and things with those men were settled without incident,” Oliver replied smoothly. “They had some concerns that weren’t being addressed, and while their planned tactic was not the wisest, their intentions were noble enough. They deserved to be heard out. Roy would have backed me up, I think, if it had come to a fight. Not that I would have needed it.” The pointed reminder of Oliver and Laurel’s hand-to-hand skills, which all of those present had seen during those morning sparring sessions the two enjoyed, had Moira grimacing. She believed in leaving defense to the professionals; it allowed you to keep your hands clean, metaphorically speaking.  

“May I at least ask what it was about?” Moira asked. Tommy looked over at his father, who had arrived late to dinner but accepted the idea of a night-cap with Walter and Quentin. Malcolm and Walter were watching the exchange between mother and son with some interest, but Quentin was grimacing, like he knew something that none of the others, even his own wife, didn’t. Tommy met Sara’s gaze, who flitted her eyes to Laurel, who was sitting beside Oliver and had one hand wrapped tightly in his, squeezing it.  _Oh, crap,_  Tommy thought to himself.  

Oliver looked at his mother. “You know very well what it was about,” Oliver said quietly. “The difference between us, Mom, is that I’m not going to ignore the wrongs our family has committed against Starling. The only thing I wonder is if you’ve done it purely out of concern for Thea and I and how the media might treat us, or out of spite for those people who haven’t been able to drag themselves out of the Glades like you dragged yourself out of Suicide Slums.”  

Moira rocked back in shock at her son’s cold, blunt statements, and her gaze shifted downward, very briefly, and noted the clasped hands and the reassuring squeeze that Laurel was giving Oliver. “There are more than enough employment opportunities in the Glades for those who make the effort to find them.” 

“Yes, most of which have ties to the criminal industry because the wealthy of this city, the Queen family included, have abandoned the Glades to the criminal underworld,” Oliver replied bitingly. “Tell me, why were the steel workers not given the severance packages due to them? And none of the media-friendly bullshit, please. The real reason.”  

Quentin and Dinah Lance exchanged looks at seeing their daughter and Oliver maintaining a united front. It was obvious to them that Laurel supported Oliver fully in what he was saying, and both wanted to know why that was.  

It was clear Moira also wanted to know this, as evidenced by her next sentence. “Very well,” she said softly, “but in return I’d like to know why you feel so strongly about this.” At Oliver’s nod, Moira sighed and said, “I did not discover the truth until I began handling things after- after the sinking. Robert, or perhaps someone else, had apparently funneled all the funds meant to be used in severance packages into accounts I couldn’t access. While I could have used funds from other departments, it would have meant firing people from that department, or even closing it up if the severance packages amounted to a solid amount.”  

Oliver leaned back in his seat, focusing on his breathing. “Were there any other incidences like the steel factory?”  

“Several, all across the country,” Moira said, ashamed despite herself; for a woman who had long been used to conducting herself in a conniving manner, she had been blind to her husband’s own actions until it was too late, and they were bound to Malcolm’s plans for Starling City.  

Oliver nodded before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “The reason Laurel and I both feel strongly about this is because we’ve known desperation, known what it’s like to wonder if we would eat today or if this was the day that we were finally going to be killed, whether by mercenaries or by the elements on the Island. It may not be the exact same in the Glades, but I doubt most jobs in the Glades, the legitimate ones, pay enough to make it through the month comfortably, much less leave. And with the subway and other public transport no longer servicing the Glades, getting jobs outside of them is much more difficult. And once they turn to crime, to taking the path of easy money, they can live comfortably in some areas of the Glades in the same way men like Adam Hunt have.”  

“He’s right,” Quentin said, attracting the attention (and surprise) of more than one person in the room. “I’ve always thought about what might’ve happened if I had gotten worse after the sinking, or if Sara and Dinah hadn’t been here to keep me on the straight and narrow. Cops don’t make a lot of money, and there’s more than one who live in the Glades and are on the take. I imagine it’s much easier for those who can’t find anything to just throw up their hands and give in.”  

Moira sighed and leaned forward so her son could look into her eyes, which he did. “Oliver, I can’t begin to understand what you and Laurel went through,” she said, “and I can’t say I have thought as much about this as Quentin has. But what would you have me do? Bankrupt the family?”  

Oliver leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “How much did that model yacht there cost? Those paintings we proudly put up in our hallways? The jewelry that’s never touched, just sits and looks pretty? All those were much-needed expenses, right? Well, if one has to display their wealth and power, I guess that would count as a need.” Oliver stood, Laurel standing with him. “If I combined the price of all those things together, I’m pretty sure it would be more than enough to at least make up for not only the steel mill debacle, but every other person across the country Queen Consolidated screwed over. But apparently, possessions that denote the wealth and power of the Queen family to our fickle fellows is more important than treating the people who work for our company  _like family_ , something you and Robert both touted over the years. Seems to me it was just talk, like every other word this family says to the press.” A stunned silence followed as Oliver headed out of the room, Laurel by his side and keeping him calm, not that those watching realized that’s what was happening. To all those present, Laurel was supporting everything Oliver had just said, and for Moira in particular, this was not the right move.  

Quentin coughed and said, “Well, I think things have gotten heated enough for one night. Di?”  

“Yes, I believe you’re right,” Dinah acknowledged, picking up her purse. “It was a lovely meal, as always, Moira. Please make sure and thank Raisa for us.” After that rather pointed comment, Quentin and Dinah left the sitting room, and weren’t surprised to see Oliver and Laurel waiting for them beside the car. “You’re always welcome at our home, Oliver,” Dinah said, seeing the young man was apprehensive. Not surprising, given his and Quentin’s somewhat tumultuous relationship when Oliver and Laurel had first started looking at one another romantically rather than platonically as they had since they’d been seven.  

Oliver glanced to Quentin, expecting something different, especially since the man was aware of Oliver and Laurel’s night-time activities. Quentin, seeing the look, said, “If you were still the same punk kid who peed on cops after a drinking binge, I’d probably be a little less-inclined, Que-Oliver. But I can tell you’re different. You  _care_  about the people of this city. I hadn’t thought about what you said in there until you said it, Oliver. Merlyn Jr. and his father, at least, are trying to help with their support of Sara’s program. I doubt your mother even knows-” Quentin cut himself off, knowing that he had nearly spilled the beans.  

“Dad?” Laurel asked softly.  

“I’d feel better telling you back at our place,” Quentin hedged. He could just imagine what would happen if he told Oliver about- 

“If it’s about Thea’s addiction issues, I already know,” Oliver said softly. Laurel shot her head around at him, eyes wide. Quentin and Dinah were likewise shocked at what he had said. “Today, I noticed some marks in between her fingers, and her hand was a bit shaky,” Oliver clarified. “I’m guessing she recently started getting help from Sara?”  

“Yes,” Dinah said softly, while Laurel put an arm around Oliver. She knew better than anyone just how much his baby sister meant to him, and she pitied whoever might have been supplying Thea until recently. Not just because of what Oliver would be doing, no; Laurel had been there for the same amount of time as Tommy and Oliver as Thea grew up, and she had seen her as another little sister in many ways. Laurel had always been tasked with keeping an eye on Sara, keeping her safe; she had extended that to Thea, and to find Thea had been preyed on during her weak moments by drug dealers was like a fire in her veins.  

“We should probably go before I turn around and head back inside,” Oliver said quietly, but each one of the Lances noted the steely undertone. Quentin nodded sharply, giving the keys to Dinah as he’d been drinking. The four got into the Lances’ car and drove off.  

Meanwhile, back inside the Queen Mansion, the stunned silence was beginning to lift. Tommy let out a low whistle. “Well, that was the most awkward conversation I’ve seen,” he said.  

“You sure?” Sara asked, eyebrows raised. “I can think of a few. Like when we told my Dad we were dating.”  

“Hardly the same category,” Tommy argued.  

Malcolm, meanwhile, was shaking his head. “I told you, Moira,” he said, giving his long-time friend a disappointed look. “Oliver and Laurel clearly aren’t the same people they were five years ago and trying to treat them the same way as we did then is going to backfire on us. Especially since even back then, Oliver showed a strong opinion of being referred to only as Robert’s son. I hope Laurel and he find the help they need elsewhere, since its clear they won’t be getting it here.” Malcolm placed his drink on the coffee table and headed for the archway leading to the main foyer of the mansion. At the archway, he turned. “But at least you got what you wanted, Moira, and Oliver will support the family in public. Though I have to wonder if you noticed the same thing I did.”  

“What is that?” Moira asked frostily, her mind currently whirring as she debated a handful of actions she could take; she had realized that Oliver’s decision-making was even further clouded by Laurel’s own views than they had been in the past.  

“He didn’t call him ‘Dad’,” Malcolm said quietly, and Moira’s mind screeched to a halt as Malcolm’s words took hold, and she and Walter both looked at Malcolm with alarm. “Oliver called his father ‘Robert’. It begs the question  _why_  he would do that.” With that said, Malcolm left the Queen Mansion, retreating to his own home and pondering the very question he had posed to Moira and Walter.  

Sara and Tommy departed soon after Malcolm, and Thea, huffing in disgust, headed to her room as Mr. Diggle returned home for the evening, leaving Walter to console Moira, or try to, and Moira to scheme. She had a few things that could be done to keep Laurel from influencing Oliver too much. She believed Laurel was the best choice for Oliver, there was no doubt in her mind about that; but Oliver had to remember that he was a Queen and as a result, a certain level of decorum and respectability was implied. Both he and Laurel, should she marry him as they clearly planned to do soon, would need to reconcile that fact with their current preconceived notions of what was ‘just’ and ‘right’.  

**_*DC*_ **

Quan Lao patrolled up and down the rows of blinded packagers, machine gun in hand. The heroine business for the Triad was booming in Starling City and its sisters, Coast City and Central City, and because of that, the security here was at a premium. They had a retina-scanner at the door, several men with machine guns, and an entire unit of the SCPD on the payroll to keep the shipments here safe. Starling was safe, unlike cities like Gotham. Quan had friends who lived there, and they spoke in fear of a shadowy figure known as the Bat. Quan’s father had spoken of a similar figure that had been active in the 70s and 80s, but that ‘Batman’ had vanished after rescuing some debutant in 1989. Whoever was acting the part now was sticking to the shadows, but was young and agile, able to fight.  

_This city_ was _safe, anyways,_ Quan thought glumly to himself as he kept an eye on the packagers, even if there was no need. None of them were stupid enough to pocket any of the product.  _With the Green Arrow and Black Canary in this town, Chen Na Wei is getting antsy._ If the rumor amongst the Triad was to be believed, the Starling vigilantes were former A.R.G.U.S. agents who had foiled a big deal Chen Na Wei, more commonly known as China White to the police and the press, had overseen in Starling and Hong Kong a few years back. Their presence in the city had caused tension in the Triad to skyrocket, as any sign of the vigilantes coming after them could be a potential weakness with the other crime syndicates at work in the city. Frank Bertinelli and the Russians would see no problem with beginning to divvy up the Triads’ holdings if weakness was sensed.  

Quan heard a clatter behind him and turned, weapon rising as he scanned for the disturbance. He moved back down the row of workers, ears alert and eyes sharp as he searched. Finding nothing as he reached the end of the row and saw nothing but black space in front of him, he turned back around, only to stumble and fall back, a blinding pain in his jaw as an extendable nightstick cracked it. He felt someone grab his weapon and toss it aside, and he looked up to see the Black Canary standing over him, her green eyes fiery behind her mask, and her blonde hair hanging like a curtain. For some she was an angel, delivering them from a hell they feared above all else, but for Quan, she was a devil intent on dragging him to a hell he justly deserved. That the Black Canary had never killed, only maimed, didn’t really cross the frightened man’s mind. In a world of normal criminals, even those belonging to crime syndicates, someone in a mask evoked a primal fear in them, and they attached attributes to those who wore masks even when it didn’t fit with the masks’ M.O.  

“You understand English, don’t you?” the Black Canary asked as she walked around to Quan’s side and placed a heel on his chest. He winced at feeling the stiletto stab him in the chest, but nodded, moaning as it jarred his broken jaw. “Good. You’re going to lead these people out of here. All your buddies are already outside, probably wishing they were dead. I’m sure Chen Na Wei will express her own displeasure. Now, assuming you can find some way to talk to her, tell her the days where the Triad push crank, X, and every other drug on the streets of this city are over.” The Black Canary considered him for a moment before she delivered a downward kick to his shoulder, puncturing it with the steel stiletto of her boot. The man howled in agony. “That’s better,” she said quietly, before shouting in Chinese for the workers to evacuate, picking up the man and shoving him forward to lead them out. Once that was done, the Black Canary grinned. It was time to send a message.  

**_*DC*_ **

_Five Years Ago_

“Why should I care?” Oliver asked, the stubborn set of his jaw telling Laurel that he was well-aware of why he should care about giving his father a proper burial but was going to hold onto his anger no matter what. She sighed, knowing that when Oliver got like this, the best option was to treat him like an obstinate two-year-old. That usually did the trick.  

“Because in the end, he was still your father, Ollie,” Laurel told him, taking his face in both hands and making her look him in the eyes: blue met green in a clash of wills. “I agree with you that the man who died on that raft isn’t your father, but that single moment of insanity doesn’t erase an entire lifetime of him being there for you and your sister. He deserves a proper burial for that, if nothing else.”  

Oliver held her gaze for a moment before sighing and lowering his gaze. “I just don’t understand,” he said quietly, and Laurel felt her heart break for him at how  _hurt_  he sounded. “Why did he do that, Laurel? What was he talking about?”  

“I don’t know, Ollie, but the first thing we have to do is bury him, and then survive this place until we can get home,” Laurel said. “Come on. I’ll help you.” She took a few steps backward towards the raft, keeping one hand clasped in Oliver’s. 

**_*DC*_ **

Quentin was looking over the newest resume for a therapist that Oliver and Laurel could go see for their issues (he wondered if they would bother considering their nightlife), Dr. Annie Green, while Dinah watched the news. A note in the corner of the resume, written in Dinah’s handwriting, mentioned the fact that Dr. Green was a survivor of trauma herself and would have far better insight than most. Of course, Quentin couldn’t help but consider the irony if the two accepted her, since Dr. Green would be helping the Green Arrow treat his issues. If the two were ever caught, he could imagine the jokes that would come from  _that_  connection,  _all of them_  corny as hell.  

Dinah gasped, and Quentin looked up to see the television screen filled with a blazing warehouse, shot from a chopper-camera, with the words “Triad Warehouse Ablaze: Gang War Imminent?” written across the bottom of the screen. Quentin felt a chill deep in his bones. First his baby girl comes back from the dead and he discovers she’s a vigilante, along with her fiancé, and now a gang war might erupt in the streets? Quentin knew if that happened Laurel and Oliver would be out there in the thick of it; whatever had happened in their time away had hardened them into protectors. The two had always been protective, Quentin knew, but not in the way they were now, not in the way where they could fight and take down criminals.  

“I should go in,” Quentin managed to get out. “If this thing erupts, they’re gonna need all hands on-deck.” He stood and walked to where Dinah was sitting in her armchair, giving him a terrified expression at the idea of him on the streets in the middle of a gang war. “I’m gonna be fine, Di,” he told her quietly, kneeling in front of her and looking in her eyes. He took her face in both of his hands and kissed her, pouring as much of the passion of their long marriage into it as he could.  

As he left their brownstone a few minutes later, he pulled out his cell phone and called Sara. “Daddy?” Sara asked when she picked up, sounding surprised. “What’s up?”  

“Sara, baby, I gotta go in, things are gonna get crazy soon and your mom’s gonna worry herself into a frenzy,” Quentin said, speaking quickly. “Laurel and Oliver are out; do you think you and Tommy could come sit with your mom until they get back?”  

“Sure, Dad,” Sara replied. “But I don’t understand. What’s going on?” 

“Check the news,” Quentin sighed. “Look, I gotta go. I love ya, baby.”  

**_*DC*_ **

The Black Canary entered the Foundry, smelling of smoke, and found the Green Arrow already back from threatening Martin Somers. “Do you think Somers will capitulate and plead guilty?” she asked as she approached her fiancé, who was studying the surveillance he had planted at the docks after leaving Somers hanging upside down. The bugs were small, untraceable, ARGUS-issued surveillance devices, and very useful for keeping an eye on those they threatened. With someone connected to the Triads like Martin Somers was, it couldn’t hurt to be careful.  

“He’s a coward, but he has resourceful friends,” the Green Arrow observed, bringing up the information they had on Chen Na Wei on another computer screen. This included all information that they had gotten from A.R.G.U.S. interrogations after the Green Arrow had captured her in Starling a few years back. “We’ll keep an eye on the situation.” He turned, lowering his hood and pulling his mask down. “However,” Oliver Queen continued, giving his fiancé a hard stare, “care to tell me why you torched a Triad warehouse like that?”  

“Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have done the same thing if I was the one to question Somers and you went to deal with the drug trade in the warehouse?” Laurel countered as she pulled her mask off.  

Oliver sighed as he stood and walked over, stopping in front of her. “No,” he sighed. “I guess not. But there’s a difference between what you did and what I’d’ve done.”  

“Which is?” Laurel asked.  

“You left the muscle alive,” Oliver said. “They’ll report back to Chen Na Wei, and if the Triad can’t find us, they’ll take it out on the city. Are you ready for the blowback that could come from that? By killing them, you would’ve kept our involvement out of it.”  

“Yes, and in doing so, it could’ve started a gang war between the Triad, the Bratva, and the Bertinelli family,” Laurel countered. “That would’ve been far worse, Ollie, since none of the three would trust the others to be truthful. By making sure they know it was  _us_ , we keep a three-way gang war from spilling out onto the streets.”  

Oliver sighed, nodding in agreement. “You’re right,” he said tiredly. “I guess I just hoped that after the past five years, fighting to bring the city back from the brink would be easy.”  

Laurel let out a soft little laugh and leaned against the table behind her, Oliver leaning against it on her left a moment later. “Oh, Ollie,” she said, “our lives haven’t been easy since we got on that boat. Did you expect it to suddenly change just because we came back here? The city of our childhood is gone, replaced by the reality we ignored because it was easy to, growing up in a downtown brownstone and an elegant manor.”  

“Well, we still have each other,” Oliver said quietly. “That’s got to count for something.”  

**_*DC*_ **

The next morning, Quentin stumbled back into the brownstone to find Dinah preparing for work and Laurel and Oliver eating breakfast. “Morning,” he grunted out as he took a seat at the table. The night had been a long, tense one as they waited for information to trickle in. Finally, they’d received word that the warehouse had been torched and the Triad muscle brutalized by the Black Canary, and there was talk that Martin Somers had had a visit from the Green Arrow last night. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had gone down last night, and what the trigger had been. But Quentin had already made his choice to not get involved in his daughter’s other life, as much as he would like to. He still had Dinah and Sara to consider, and it’d be bad enough for them to lose Laurel if she were arrested or, worse, was killed while fighting as the Black Canary. But if he also went down for working with the vigilantes? No, he had to be aloof about all of it, as much as it pained him to do.  

“Morning, Quentin,” Dinah said, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. “Unless they gave you the day off, you’ll be needing that.”  

“Thanks, Di,” he said quietly. He shifted his gaze up to Laurel and Oliver. “So, what are you two lovebirds planning for today?”  

“Apartment hunting,” Laurel replied brightly, and grinned mischievously at Oliver’s low groan. “Oh, come on, Ollie, you knew it was coming. We can’t stay at the manor or here forever, and we’ve been living together for five years anyways. Just this time, it’ll be with a shower and a secure door.”  

Oliver couldn’t help the low chuckle at Laurel’s attitude. Apparently, finally getting her wish five years later had put her in a extra-cheerful mood, something he wasn’t used to seeing after the past five years. “Okay, okay,” Oliver agreed. “I assume you’ve already sorted out the ones that would get an automatic no?” At Laurel’s nod, Oliver continued, “Just remember I have that appointment this afternoon.”  

“I’ve got something to do myself,” Laurel said, “so let’s hope we find one.”  

**_*DC*_ **

In the end, they did find a lovely loft in a downtown high-rise. Oliver checked out the balcony, noting that each of the apartments to the side and down the building had similar balconies.  “How many other tenants are in the building?” Oliver asked the realtor as he re-entered the main room of the loft, which had plenty of space along with a small kitchenette, not that he and Laurel would be using that much. Laurel had inherited her mother’s cooking skills (she had none) and Oliver had grown up with maids and hired cooks. Their time on Lian Yu and elsewhere, others had helped with foraging and there wasn’t much in the way of cooking, or the meals were provided. Not even Tatsu had managed to teach either Laurel or Oliver how to cook in their time in Hong Kong.  

The realtor, looking surprised, replied, “You’re the first ones to take up residency, actually. The city, as you know, is facing hard times. The building has been refurbished and advertised heavily, but there’s not enough interest in moving to a city which is struggling.”  

“Understandable,” Oliver replied. “Well, I think this is a good one. Laurel?”  

“It is perfectly situated,” she mused, meaning more than one thing in that wording. Oliver had told her about Roy Harper’s words and she had taken that to heart, ruling out all possibilities that didn’t put them in the city where they could more easily find out what was going on. “I think this is the right one for us.”  

“Well, I’ve got the paperwork right here, so all we need to do is fill it out,” the realtor offered, apparently desperate for a sale. Oliver smiled at the woman and nodded towards the counter, and the three gathered around it to fill out the paperwork. 

**_*DC*_**  

Cynthia Simone, better known as Cindy or Sin to the other Glades orphans, kicked an abandoned beer bottle along the alleyway as she headed towards the hole in the wall she currently called home, along with a bunch of others. Work in the Glades was scarce for anyone, and the only job that had constant need for new faces was prostitution, and as far as Sin was concerned, that was never gonna happen. She was not the kind of girl who got all dolled up and acted like a complete ditz just to make a couple of twenties, which would be eaten up by legal bills whenever she got pinched. She had decided after her dad had disappeared while flying some kind of package to China that if she had to do criminal work to get out of the Glades, it’d be through the five finger discount and its related crimes, not through screwing horny old men (and the occasional woman) who needed the thrill of whatever it was that attracted people to that kind of thing.  

“Cindy Simone?” asked a woman’s voice and Sin stopped, hiding a wince at the compassion she could hear in the woman’s voice. No doubt this was the newest social worker sent to try and help her out. Turning, Sin found a woman with light blonde hair standing behind her, very tanned, dressed in clothes that showed she knew not to dress too fancy in the Glades but could afford decently-fitting clothes.  

“Yeah,” Sin said cautiously, eyeing her with mistrust. “You a social worker? Because I already said I don’t need any of your kind of help.”  

The woman smiled, somewhat bitterly. “No, Cindy, I’m not a social worker. My name’s Laurel Lance.”  

“As in the girl who just got rescued off an island and is engaged to Starling’s crown prince?” Sin clarified in disbelief.  

Laurel laughed at the description of her and Ollie and said, “I doubt Ollie would be happy to hear he’s considered Starling’s crown prince, no matter how accurate a description that might be.” Laurel’s laughter died as she said, “Cindy, when we were on that island, a plane crashed there. Your father was onboard.” She dug into her pocket and brought out the picture that had helped drive her forward since her second year on that godforsaken rock. “He gave me this, asked me to check up on you, make sure you’re okay.” She held out the picture to Sin.  

Sin, clamping down hard on her emotions (the time for them would come later when she had a nice bottle of vodka or whiskey!), approached Laurel cautiously and took the picture from her, looking at it. She swallowed the lump she felt growing in her throat at the sight her younger self, care-free and in the company of a loving father at a Rockets game. She wiped at her eyes where she felt traitorous tears welling up and looked up at Laurel. “Was it quick?” she asked quietly, hopefully.  

“Yes,” Laurel said in a low tone. “I am so sorry, Cindy.”  

“Sin,” the teen corrected. “People call me Sin.”  

“Alright, Sin,” Laurel said, looking at her. “I made a promise to your dad, but I can tell you’ve grown accustomed to looking out for yourself. Do you have a cell?” Sin nodded, pulling it out. Laurel snatched it from her, lightning quick, causing Sin to open her mouth to object. “I’m just putting my number in,” Laurel said as she created a new contact on Sin’s older phone, which was like the kind Laurel herself had used. Laurel pulled out her cell and tossed it to Sin. “Go ahead and program your number into mine. If you ever need something, even if it’s just to talk about what a crappy day you’ve had, call me.” She waited while Sin put in her contact information, than hit the call icon on Sin’s phone while her name was highlighted. The phone in Sin’s hand lit up, signifying it was the right number.  

“Don’t trust me?” Sin asked with a mild smirk.  

“More worried that you aren’t trusting me,” Laurel said softly. “I know how it must seem, a mysterious woman popping out of the woodwork, even if she has the photo your father gave her. But I am not here to try and run your life, Sin, or be your mother. But I do want to help you if you’ll let me.”  

Sin studied the older woman. On the one hand she hated people treating her like a kid who couldn’t handle herself, but on the other, this woman wasn’t doing that and seemed to genuinely want to get to know Sin at her own speed. Sin wasn’t sure what it was that made her do it, but she said, “Why don’t we grab a bite to eat, and you can see if you want to waste your time with me.”  

“Don’t worry, I’ll buy,” Laurel promised. The two women set off towards downtown, chatting about the city and how it had changed in the five years Laurel was away.  

**_*DC*_ **

Laurel was still smiling as she entered the Lair later to find Oliver already at the computers. “Suit up,” he said as she approached. “Somers contacted China White. They’re going after Adrian Chase and Emily Nocenti. Chase has her holed up with him in a suite of rooms at the Plaza Hotel downtown.”  

“Got it,” Laurel said, heading for where her suit was stored, her smile fading. It was time to let the Black Canary out to play again.  

**_*DC*_ **

Adrian Chase was going over Emily Nocenti’s deposition with her again. The Plaza Hotel was one of the most secure in the city, but in a place like Starling that didn’t mean much, which was why Adrian had a pistol hidden beneath the cushions of every piece of furniture in the room. All of the firearms were legally purchased, and he had a concealed carry permit for each one. Adrian was on high alert, and he doubted he would be coming down from it until Somers was in prison and the Triad had to find someone new. The fact that the city’s resident vigilantes had basically declared war on the Triad was a contributing factor to all of this.  

Adrian held up a hand as Emily recounted finding her father’s body, his ears perking up. Growing up in a rough part of Manhattan, he had learned quickly to pick up differences in the normal noise. He had stayed in this room for several nights before finding his new apartment in the Glades and had familiarized himself with what was ‘normal’. He could make out the distinct noise of several people heading down the hall outside. He was glad that at least this room didn’t have access to a fire escape or there’d be two possible points of entry.  

“Come on,” he told Emily, pulling her up by the elbow and retrieving the weapon he’d hidden there. Frightened, Emily followed him into the bedroom, where he secured her in the closet and handed a small holdout pistol to her. “Keep quiet, keep down, and if anyone but me opens that door, shoot them,” he told her. “I’m going to go and keep them in the front.”  

“Please, don’t go,” Emily whispered, scared out of her wits.  

“I’ll be fine,” Adrian told her, and closed the door to the closet. Exiting the bedroom, he closed and locked it behind him, the flipped over the metal coffee table and pushed it into position beside the armchair. He retrieved a second pistol from there. “Here we go,” he muttered quietly as the sound of automatic gunfire filled the air. Bullets shredded through the security of the door, and a large Asian man with an Uzi stumbling in, weapon raised. Adrian, crouched behind the coffee table, squeezed off a round, which struck the goon dead center in the head. Blood and brain matter sprayed the door and wall behind the man. Three other men rushed in, dashing in different directions while laying down cover fire. Adrian kept himself behind the coffee table, which he doubted would hold up much longer. Peeking around the edge, he saw a white-haired woman armed with twin knives enter, a cold smile on her lips. “Oh, shit,” Adrian muttered.  

“You can make this easy, Mr. Chase,” China White called out, her voice cool and collected. “Hand over the Nocenti girl and perhaps your choice to meddle in our affairs can be overlooked.”  

“And in the meantime, you and Somers keep smuggling in drugs and maybe even get into the sex trade?” Adrian called back. “I believe the words are ‘fuck’ and ‘you’.”  

“Very brave, and very American, Mr. Chase,” China White said. “But as you-” The Chinese assassin’s sentence ended in a grunt as she was sent tumbling forward by a sonic wave. The men in the room clapped their hands to their ears, and Adrian turned at the sound of shattering glass to find the Green Arrow rising from a crouching position and firing a containment arrow at the nearest Triad thug, tying him down. The next arrow fired was lethal, though, as the thug it was aimed at took a firing stance even as the Green Arrow aimed.  

The blade of the arrow sliced through the thug’s neck artery, and his haphazard shot hit the wall behind the Green Arrow. Blood rapidly poured from the wound and the man dropped to his knees, gun dropping to the ground as he put pressure on the wound in an inevitably fruitless attempt to stem the blood flow. Black Canary, meanwhile, had locked her arms around the final thug’s neck, putting him in a chokehold. The thug slipped to the ground, unconscious or maybe even dead for all Adrian knew, as China White rose and eyed first the Green Arrow and then the Black Canary.  

“I am pleased to see you both live,” the assassin told the vigilantes. “I had feared you had died when the Alpha-Omega was released. I so wished to kill you both myself.”  

“Happy to be of service,” the Green Arrow quipped, moving closer, one hand rising to his quiver.  

The Black Canary extended her nightsticks, stalking towards China White. “I’ve been looking forward to our rematch,” the black-clad vigilante said.  

“Killing you and getting rid of the problem for Martin Somers at the same time is quite sweet,” the assassin said with a vicious grin. With the witty banter portion of the fight out of the way, the three engaged one another. The Green Arrow fired a lethal arrow at the assassin, who dodged out of the way and delivered a kick to his chest before turning, ducking under the Black Canary’s first swing while catching the second nightstick with her blades. “Clever girl,” China White said, “but you still need to work on your form.” China White jerked her blades up, forcing the Black Canary’s arms out of the way, and jutted her head forward, bashing the other woman in the face with her forehead.  

The Black Canary stumbled back, blood streaming from her nose and shaking her head to clear her vision of black spots. China White couldn’t press her advantage though, as she was forced to turn and cut apart an arrow fired at her. The Green Arrow closed the distance between them as the arrow dropped to the carpet, rearing back with his bow in hand. China White rolled with the blow he landed so it did little more than disorient her briefly, but her movement was one she practiced daily against many other opponents. She used the momentum of the blow to put herself into a spinning kick, bringing the archer crashing down onto his back. She then pushed herself up on her hands, delivering a kick to the Black Canary’s chest, putting the other vigilante in the same position as her partner: with the wind knocked out of them.  

Her hand flashed in Adrian’s direction, and his breath caught as her knife dug into his side. She grabbed a disc-like device off her own belt and threw it towards the bedroom door. “A little inspiration I picked up from you, my emerald friend,” China White told the Archer as she backed to the doorway. “That incendiary device isn’t enough to blow the room, but it will make it very difficult for Ms. Nocenti to breathe soon enough.” The device exploded, taking down the door and leaving a fire that fed on the carpet and wooden frame. “You can save the girl and the lawyer or chase me. Your choice, my friends.” With that, Chen Na Wei fled, smug in the knowledge that she would not be chased by the two. They suffered from that quandary known as morality, a surprising element to be found in A.R.G.U.S. agents.  

“Help Chase, I’ll get the girl,” the Green Arrow told his partner, who nodded. The Canary Cry wouldn’t do much against the flames, and she wasn’t strong enough to haul a fully-grown woman across the flames in her arms or anything of the like. Green Arrow was better suited to helping Emily in this case.  

The Green Arrow dived over the flames and landed in a crouch. He approached the closet, and opened it, only to jerk to the side as the gun Emily Nocenti held raised and fired. He disarmed her and clamped a hand over her mouth as she tried to scream. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, looking into her eyes. He saw her eyes rake up and down his form, and she relaxed. He removed his hand from her mouth. “Come on,” he said, rising from his crouched position and extending a hand down to her. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. They moved to the bedroom entrance, where the flames were continuing to eat away. The fire alarm and sprinkler system had been disabled, from the looks of it. The Green Arrow picked Emily up bridal style and leaped through the flames, landing on the other side and setting her down, checking to make sure she hadn’t caught fire.  

The two met the Black Canary and a wounded Adrian Chase at the door to the hotel room and made their way out into the now crowded hall. The Green Arrow grabbed two hotel workers who were directing the crowd. “Help these two get out of the building,” he ordered the men, pushing them to Emily and Adrian. Neither were willing to argue with the guy dressed up like Robin Hood. The Green Arrow slipped a small recording device into Adrian’s hand. “You’ll need that,” he told the man, and then he and the Black Canary broke off from the rest in the stairwell, heading for the roof while everyone else headed down to the lobby.  

**_*DC*_ **

_Five Years Ago_

Burying his father, Oliver had found a blank journal in the pocket of the cargo shorts Robert had worn, a blank journal that now rested in Oliver’s own cargo shorts as he and Laurel walked through the forest, heading further into the island to look for shelter, water, and food. Both were hungry, but kept moving through the forest, keeping an eye out for a place to make a semi-permanent home while they survived.  

The snap of branches and the like in the forest to the side had Laurel and Oliver turning. Relief flooded through them as they saw a group of black-clad men, perhaps paramilitary or mercenaries, heading in their direction. “Hey!” Oliver shouted, waving to the men. They turned and saw Oliver and began moving in their direction. Oliver turned and smiled at Laurel. “Looks like we’re going home soon,” he told her and turned back to the men, only for his smile to fade. He put himself between Laurel and the raised weapons. “Woah, woah, hey, there’s no need for that!” he shouted, raising his hands to show he had no weapon.  

“Who are you?” the man leading the group asked harshly, his weapon still aimed at Oliver and Laurel, as were those of his men.  

“M-my name’s Oliver Queen,” Oliver told the man. “This is my girlfriend. Our ship went down days ago. We made it here on a life raft. Listen, my family’s rich, _real_ rich. I’m sure you’d all get handsomely rewarded if we could just get a message to them. Do you have a satellite phone or anything like that?”  

“Our camp has a radio,” the man said. “Come on, we’ll lead you there. Try anything, and I’ll gut you both.”  

Oliver and Laurel fell into step behind the man. Two different sets of eyes watched the two young people walk off with the mercenaries, unaware of what may happen. Yao Fei, disgraced Chinese general, shook his head. He had hoped to intercept them before the mercenaries led by Edward Fyers found them; he would have given them basic survival knowledge, tried to help them escape, or failing that, sent them to Slade Wilson.  

Speaking of the Australian SIS agent, Slade watched the two kids get led towards Fyers’ camp and shook his head in disgust. Fyers and his men knew no bounds. A part of him wanted to chase after the patrol and take them out, to save the two kids, but he knew that all that would do would push the kids further towards Fyers’ end of things. They would see him as mad, insane, and a violent prisoner of the island. Better for them to discover Fyers’ true nature themselves, and then come to him or Yao Fei.  

**_*DC*_ **

_Present Day_

Oliver came out of remembering the day he and Laurel met Fyers’ men when she called to him. “Ollie? What’s wrong?” she asked. Oliver turned to where she stood, once more in casual clothes as he was, and smiled bitterly.  

“Sorry, Laurel,” he said, “I was just remembering what happened after we buried Robert. I was so trusting back then, even after killing him. I let those men lead us right into their camp.” Oliver looked over at her, emotion thickening his tone and eyes overly bright. “Every time I think of what they did, of what they intended, I feel the anger in my veins, and I want to crush anyone and everyone who would do something like that. It worries me, how much anger I still have.”  

Laurel walked over to where he was sitting and crouched in front of him, taking his hands in her own. “Hey,” she said softly, getting his attention. Blue eyes once more met green, though this time it was not with a fire in them, but compassion. “What happened is  _not_  your fault, Ollie. I trusted them, too. Mercenaries all care about money; we had no reason to think they would be any different. I don’t blame you because I made the same mistake.” She placed a hand on his cheek as he looked away, making him look back at her. “Now, I know something else is bothering you, Ollie. I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”  

Oliver chuckled ruefully. “I should know better by now that I can’t slip anything past you.” He looked down at their joined hands. “When I went to the bar today to deliver the cards and account information to the workers, it wasn’t just them there. It was their families. I met and talked with every family; I talked to them about what they’d been doing since the factory closed.” He looked up at Laurel, and she was shocked to see tears in her fiancé’s eyes. “Some of the kids were wearing shoes that were barely holding together, their clothes were thread-bare, but they all thanked me with the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen. Robert put them in that position in the first place, but they were thanking me and acting like I’d saved them. Not the Green Arrow, but Oliver Queen.”  

Laurel smiled at her fiancé’s shock. “How many more times am I going to have to tell you that you are a good man?” she asked him rhetorically. “So, what is it that’s bothering you about it?”  

“How can I have done all that today, including deal with another name on the List Robert had on him when he died, and then go to the dedication ceremony tomorrow and support the honoring of a man like him? Allow my family’s company to brand their Applied Sciences division, which is meant to open new doors to technology going forward, with his name? Smile and nod like he was a good man, when I know he was a monster?”  

“If you can’t do that, Oliver, then don’t try to,” Laurel said, placing a hand over his heart. “Do what you feel is right  _in here_.”  

**_*DC*_ **

_Blackhawk Security’s a top-notch firm to work for,_  Ted Gaynor thought to himself as he booted up the system,  _but it doesn’t pay all that good._  Taking the odd job here and there had helped Gaynor make ends meet, but he was growing frustrated with the restrictions Blackhawk Security had. So, he had gotten a group together and started doing jobs for those who could afford it on the sly. They had been hired last week by Malcolm Merlyn to interrogate Oliver Queen and Dinah Laurel Lance about what Robert Queen might have told them. It had taken this long for Gaynor to get the armor-cams back, and it had cost him. He hoped the cams had caught something good so Merlyn could reimburse his expenses  _and_  pay him the asked-for price. He had lost his whole team and would have to recruit a new one; that part would be easy enough, at least, since Blackhawk was filled with disgruntled ex-soldiers who were pissed about the change in lifestyle.  

The squad leader’s cam had the most footage, and Gaynor loaded it onto the system. As he watched, he had to admit Queen and Lance had guts bantering back and forth like that. Them mentioning the name Fyers piqued his interest and he wrote it down to check into later. Then  _it_  happened. Lance unleashed a sonic scream that had all the men cowering, and the two captives broke free before killing all but the team leader. The man had alluded to Merlyn, but not named him, which was good, before using his cyanide pill at realizing he’d helped the two vigilantes narrow down the list of people who could be behind the kidnapping. The debate the two had following the death of the man confirmed that the two castaways were the Green Arrow and the Black Canary.  

Gaynor picked up his phone and sent a text to Merlyn’s burner phone.  _Got the footage. How do you want it delivered?_  

A minute later, the answer came through.  _Deliver in person, on a stick drive. Destroy all other copies._  

_Acknowledged._  Gaynor loaded the footage onto a thumb drive and then erased any record of it in the system. Pocketing the thumb drive, he took the armor-cams to the tech room, where they would put back into circulation in the firm. Getting on the elevator, Gaynor couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his features as he began planning his new goal for the team he assembled after delivering the thumb drive. Blackhawk Security was responsible for moving high-value merchandise in their armored cars, and with the right team, they could take that cargo and sell it for a good chunk of cash.  

As Gaynor stepped off the elevator, all thoughts of his plans were washed out of his mind by an armored figure that grabbed him and flung him with inhuman strength at a support column. Gaynor’s left arm was between his body and the column when they collided, and he let out a howl of agony as his arm splintered. Bone protruded through the fabric of his sleeve, which slowly but surely turned dark with blood as he landed, panting on the ground. He withdrew a pistol and aimed at his attacker, firing as the infamous mercenary approached. The bullets glanced off the armor the man wore, and a moment later, Deathstroke’s heavy boot came down on his hand with the same inhuman strength. Gaynor’s scream was long and drawn-out as his bones were crushed into a fine powder. The pain of his broken left arm and his pulverized right hand pushed him close to unconsciousness.  

“Why?” he managed to get out, his words slurring, as Deathstroke pulled the thumb stick out of his pocket. “You’re no different from me.” 

“We may both kill for money, Gaynor,” Deathstroke told him, his left-hand gripping Gaynor by the throat and causing the man to gasp for air, “but there is a difference: honor. The man and woman whose lives you would so easily hand over to the highest bidder are like my own children, and I shall not allow you to destroy them.” Deathstroke crushed the man’s throat with one quick, decisive squeeze, and tossed his body away. “Consider this an honorable death, more than you deserve,” Deathstroke told the corpse.  

**_*DC*_ **

The next morning, at the dedication ceremony, Oliver stood behind Walter, with Laurel beside him, while Moira and Thea sat on the seats nearby. Laurel wanted Oliver to know she supported what he was about to do completely, knowing how hard it would be for him as it would not only put him in a position opposite most of the one percent in Starling, but also put him at odds even more than he already was with his own mother and possibly Thea. Both noted Roy Harper standing at the back of the crowd, his expression saying he wasn’t sure why he had been asked here by Oliver. The Queen scion had found Harper last night and asked him to be there. Oliver had been rather busy last night, now that Laurel thought about it; he hadn’t told her quite what he had planned, but she had seen the light in his eyes when he got back to her parents’ house for their last night there.  

Walter said, “Robert Queen was many things to many people, and we are here today to honor that fact. To give a better idea of who Robert was, his son, Mr. Oliver Queen, has asked to say a few words.” Walter had been surprised when Oliver had asked to do this, and when he had asked Oliver why, the young man had said he wanted to make up for what he had said before. Walter had accepted that and now stepped aside, joining Moira in sitting with Thea as Oliver stepped up to the podium, Laurel keeping behind him, a source of strength for him.  

“Good morning,” Oliver said as he looked out across the crowd of reporters, workers at Queen Consolidated, and a general smattering of Starling denizens. “As Walter said, Robert Queen was many things to many people. For my sister and I, he was a father; for my mother, a loving husband. For his friends and allies, a jovial presence. These are all good things. But as I’ve learned in my time away, there is a difference in blood and honor.  

“My blood tells me I should stand by and watch as the Applied Sciences division, which will lead Queen Consolidated and Starling City into the future, is branded with my father’s name. But my honor tells me I cannot do so, not without the whole story being known. What people ignore is that Robert Queen lacked integrity, he lacked honor, he lacked decency. He lied to the people who worked at the Steel Mill in our own Glades district, told them there was no chance he would do as so many others have and move operations to China for the sake of cheaper labor. Then he did exactly that and ensured that those workers did not get the severances they justly deserved by funneling those funds away. Funds I have since recovered and distributed as they should have been.” This was met with an excited buzz from the crowd, all of whom were shocked that Oliver had been allowed to do this, and that it was playboy Oliver Queen saying all of this. 

Moira Queen sat rigidly in her seat, unable to move as her son talked, while Walter looked grim. Attempting to stop Oliver would only have the press digging. They would have to deal with this later, with the PR team. Moira’s lips thinned as she eyed Laurel Lance standing behind Oliver, supporting him as he disparaged his legacy. 

“Robert Queen was a liar and a thief, and to brand the path to the future with his name is an insult to every single person who has suffered because of him, including my fiancé and I,” Oliver continued. “Using my own funds, which are substantial, I have recently purchased an entire building of apartments downtown, which has been refurbished but has no tenants besides Laurel and myself. My intention is to rent these apartments at half-cost to those who wish to find work in downtown Starling but cannot get there due to the lack of transportation in the Glades.  

“This building will be renamed for the only true philanthropist I have ever known in my life: Rebecca Merlyn. Her remaining family and I will be deciding on a name for the building moving forward, but it will be dedicated to a true philanthropist and humanitarian who wanted nothing more than to see this city shine as a beacon of hope again.” Oliver paused for a moment before finishing his speech. “I may be Robert Queen’s son by blood, but I refuse to follow in the footsteps of an honor-less liar and thief.” With his speech over, Oliver walked off the dais, exchanging a brief glare with his mother before heading for his and Laurel’s car.  

It was time to pack up their remaining belongings at the mansion and head for their new apartment and their new life. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I remember I loved writing that speech, so I’m glad I only had to make a couple of adjustments (severances instead of benefits).


End file.
